It was summertime by 33 degrees south latitude and 18 degrees east longitude, but on that day, a howling wind from the southeast sprayed the coastline with a winter coating. Sand flew, horizontal and abrasive, and the ocean was like an endless field of whitecaps, fluffy white flowers on a bed of blue grass. So the dogs played in the sand and had a blast while we got sand-blasted. But there was more in the air then just salt and sand. There was… something. And Cézanne would have loved the light.

And then there was fish & chips. The dogs got a chip each, but that’s a secret.